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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27621332">Sweeter Songs Than Ice and Fire - Game of Thrones and ASoIaF Snippet Collection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterIsNinja/pseuds/WriterIsNinja'>WriterIsNinja</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Bleach, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Asexual Sansa Stark, Biromantic Sansa Stark, Epistolary, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Rhaenys Targaryen Lives, Self-Insert, Snippets, Star Trek References, Valonqar Prophecy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:01:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,652</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27621332</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterIsNinja/pseuds/WriterIsNinja</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Sweet and Strong as Poison</em><br/>She cultivates a relationship with her Father hunting and hawking, though she never picks up a sword. She disdains her mother’s fashions – red and gold and lions and Westerlander hairstyles – for black and gold and whites and purples with voluminous sleeves, crowns of antlers cast about her neck a torc and belted around her waist and sewn into near anything, hair ever in Stormlander braids. She smiles softly and speaks kindly and pays due mind to Prince Tommen, and everyone knows that if you want the King’s ear you must have hers, for she looks like his late Lady Mother in the face. Myrcella cultivates a relationship with her Father, for her name wasn’t always Myrcella, and he with her for her Baratheon blue eyes.<br/><em>But They Do Not Need Your Woe</em><br/>Rhaegar is too loved by the smallfolk who breed and feed their armies, the Lords decide, and so a moment is lost. Rhaegar crowns his wife not only Queen of Love and Beauty but The Queen, displanting his Father bloodlessly. Less than a year gone since Harrenhal, Ned hands over a letter, blushingly admitting, “I’ve begotten a child on her, Father." “Then you shall wed promptly, and the child shall be true,” Rickard insisted.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ashara Dayne/Ned Stark, Brynden "Blackfish" Tully/Original Female Character(s), Brynden "Blackfish" Tully/Original Male Character(s), Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Edric "Ned" Dayne/Arya Stark, Edric "Ned" Dayne/Trystane Martell, Edric "Ned" Dayne/Trystane Martell/Arya Stark, Elia Martell/Lyanna Stark, Elia Martell/Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark, Kurosaki Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke, Lysa Tully Arryn/Ned Stark, Lysa Tully Arryn/Oberyn Martell, Myrcella Baratheon/Willas Tyrell, Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell, Renly Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister, Robert Baratheon/Elia Martell, Robert Baratheon/Lyanna Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Selyse Baratheon/Stannis Baratheon, Tommen Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Tyrion Lannister/Margaery Tyrell, Wynafryd Manderly/Robb Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>231</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Sweet and Strong as Poison</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>“Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.”</em> ― Sun Tzu, The Art of War</p>
<p>She cultivates a relationship with her Father hunting and hawking, though she never picks up a sword. Not only would that be inappropriate, but she has no interest. Still, Court is dangerous enough that her skirts are never without daggers. She disdains her mother’s fashions – red and gold and lions and Westerlander hairstyles – for black and gold and whites and purples with voluminous sleeves, crowns of antlers cast about her neck a torc and belted around her waist and sewn into near anything, hair ever in Stormlander braids. She smiles softly and speaks kindly and pays due mind to Prince Tommen, and everyone knows that if you want the King’s ear you must have hers, for she looks like his late Lady Mother in the face.</p>
<p>Myrcella cultivates a relationship with her Father, for her name wasn’t always Myrcella, and he with her for her Baratheon blue eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Prologue: Jaime I</strong>
</p>
<p>“There have been Lannisters with blue eyes,” Jaime shrugs, not seeing fit to tell that the girl looks like Cassana Estermont Baratheon in the face. Cersei ceases her fretting then, which is primarily the point. As far as Jaime is concerned, none of the children are his; as far as Cersei is, all of them are.</p>
<p>When Joffrey had died, crushed by a dragon skull in the catacombs not three weeks and a day after that horrible incident with Tommen’s cat, sweet Myrcella had dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief – eyes entirely dry, though Cersei had wept for her child. Jaime could hardly blame either for that: he hadn’t seen it as much of a loss himself, but Joffrey <em>was</em> Cersei’s firstborn (and the consolation had been nice). The boy had been entirely too wild and entirely too cruel, but the Royal Family, at least, must be seen to mourn with a Realm that knew nothing of said cruelty. Tommen, though more pliable, at least could be counselled, and was good in the practice yard after Robert (and therefore the Kingsguard, who were, at least, less likely to abandon their charge for wenching) took him in hand.</p>
<p>He recalled it being at the funeral that Robert had first noticed her… the strong Baratheon build and eyes, a full Estermont face and soft lips, loose honey hair made to whiskey in the fading light, and a gown almost more gold than black, the only thing Lannister about the girl that day had been her paleness. Showing Tyrion’s shrewdness, Myrcella had seized the advantage and milked Robert for all the attention (and coin) he was worth, although she cultivated Tommen more readily for all their relationship was sincerely loving.</p>
<p>Robert, of course, didn’t know the word, so he could hardly tell Myrcella sucking up, both blatant and subtle, from something genuine.</p>
<p>Honestly, the woman was simply mad that her daughter had taken of her circle of Ladies a blend from across every Kingdom but the far distant North, in truth. Cersei always fretted about the girl’s parentage when she was any less than her Westerlander-born Mother in miniature.</p>
<p>Well, Jaime was Kingsguard: not his problem.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. But They Do Not Need Your Woe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><em>"Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it."</em> — Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox)</p>
<p>Perhaps in the next generation the time will be ripe for a less… Targaryen King, but Rhaegar is too loved by the smallfolk who breed and feed their armies, the High Lords decide, and so the moment is lost. Still, the marriages will stay:<br/>Rhaegar crowns his wife not only Queen of Love and Beauty but The Queen, displanting his Father bloodlessly with the aid of the Kingsguard. A year gone since the Harrenhal Tourney, then, Ned hands across an elegantly penned letter, blushingly admitting, “I’ve begotten a child on her, Father.”</p>
<p>Rickard frowned disapprovingly, but silently admitted that, as the two were betrothed, it was not entirely inappropriate. Still, bastards born on whores were one thing (though he had taught Brandon, at least, about Moon Tea, wild as the boy was), but a baseborn child got on a noble Lady, improper as the Dornish may be? It would not, could not, be borne – not by Rickard Stark.<br/>“Then you shall wed promptly, and the child shall be true,” Rickard insisted.<br/>Ashara Dayne deserves a happy life, and she shall have one: despite a rough start, she will <em>, make</em> it so.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Laugh, and the world laughs with you;</p>
<p>Weep, and you weep alone;</p>
<p>For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,</p>
<p>But has trouble enough of its own.</p>
<p>Sing, and the hills will answer;</p>
<p>Sigh, it is lost on the air;</p>
<p>The echoes bound to a joyful sound,</p>
<p>But shrink from voicing care.</p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Rejoice, and men will seek you;</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Grieve, and they turn and go;</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="u">They want full measure of all your pleasure</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="u">But they do not need your woe.</span>
</p>
<p>Be glad, and your friends are many;</p>
<p>Be sad, and you lose them all,—</p>
<p>There are none to decline your nectared wine,</p>
<p>But alone you must drink life’s gall.</p>
<p>Feast, and your halls are crowded;</p>
<p>Fast, and the world goes by.</p>
<p>Succeed and give, and it helps you live,</p>
<p>But no man can help you die.</p>
<p>There is room in the halls of pleasure</p>
<p>For a large and lordly train,</p>
<p>But one by one we must all file on</p>
<p>Through the narrow aisles of pain. ”</p>
<p>― Ella Wheeler Wilcox</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>My Dearest Eddard,</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>       I sing to you of joyous tidings, troubling though this news may seem at present. Still my brother Asthal has finally agreed that we should be wed, and swiftly, the final negotiations between our Houses left as they are at present. Asthal did not want for me to ‘leave’ him yet, the silly thing -- it is not as if we would not remain at Starfall! To be a woman instead of his little sister. <span class="u">You</span> know, however, that the deed is done, and now so does my rightful liege. For you see, my Ned, our single union has left me with child…  </strong>
</p>
<p>Ned handed across the solar an elegantly penned letter, blushingly admitting, “I’ve begotten a child on her, Father.”</p>
<p>Rickard frowned disapprovingly, but silently admitted that, as the two were betrothed (and had been told of such beforehand, when their union was, by the date of things), it was not <em>entirely</em> inappropriate. Still, bastards born on whores were one thing (though he had taught Brandon, at least, about Moon Tea, nearer and wild as the boy was), but a baseborn child ‘got on a Lady, improper as the Dornish may be? It would not, <em>could </em>not, be borne – not by Rickard Stark.</p>
<p>“Then you shall wed promptly, and the child shall be true,” Rickard insisted, reading the letter silently. Lady Ashara may have been her wifeless brother’s Heir (and fully intending to remain such, for the man favored men; Rickard hardly understood it, but he did not need to understand the details of oddities that worked to the benefit of his House), but she had obviously trained in the arts, as women often did. He already knew her to draw excellently, paint exquisitely, and sing decently, though for the life of her the Lady couldn’t sew and lacked the patience to attempt as such, but the addition of poetry at the end – a rare enough art to have talent for – surprised him.</p>
<p><strong>I know not whence I came,</strong><strong><br/>
I know not whither I go;<br/>
But the fact stands clear that I am here<br/>
In this world of pleasure and woe.<br/>
And out of the mist and murk,<br/>
Another truth shines plain.<br/>
It is in my power each day and hour<br/>
To add to its joy or its pain.<br/>
<br/>
I know that the earth exists,<br/>
It is none of my business why.<br/>
I cannot find out what it's all about,<br/>
I would but waste time to try.<br/>
My life is a brief, brief thing,<br/>
I am here for a little space.<br/>
And while I stay I would like, if I may,<br/>
To brighten and better the place.<br/>
</strong>[— <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/186471.Ella_Wheeler_Wilcox"><strong>Ella Wheeler Wilcox</strong></a> (<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/9953965-poems-of-power"><strong>Poems of Power</strong></a>)]</p>
<p>          Mayhap it shouldn’t have, though, for Elia Martell Targaryen was as known for her poetry as her husband for his sorrowful harp, and the Lady Ashara had been her dearest friend and companion throughout blasted Mad Aerys’ court, long may he rot in the Black Cells. It was a pity, really, that Rhaegar had acted before their plot had come to fruition, but in another generation the throne would be ripe for a better King of a less mad Line. Let Rhaegar bring about his own downfall, as Targaryens would. Rickard pitied Queen Elia to be wed to <em>that</em> – he truly did.     </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Shadow Bright as Sun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The trees sing, the wind whispers, and the waters ripple. Elena Martin (always a little Fae) walks through a maze of mirror-glass to Westeros, and, laughing, what’s left of the Other tumbles after.</p><p>AKA: Elle uses the last breath of a dying magic in a dying world to write herself into a world of ice and fire, born later and grown hardier than Elia Martell might have been though weak at birth. Luckily, a question and an opportune meeting is enough to change her so-called fate. In the wake of Tywin Lannister’s insult to their family in 273AC, Elia simply asks “May we still visit the Vale and the North, Mother?” with marriages in mind.</p><p>Robert Baratheon, ten and one, sees a Lady of ten and three with a smile like sunshine and a laugh like a summer sigh (not nearly as fragile as she’s rumored) and tumbles head over heels in love.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Elena Martin walks a maze, a daze settling upon her the further she reaches in. She almost misses a turn, just the once, but a brush of her fingers along the mirrored glass has her dizzily turning back.</p><p>This no longer feels like the remnants of Boston with its storied history and old fae magic; this no longer feels like her thick, poisonous air.</p><p>Shadows flicker across the mirrors, dragging down her feet but for her kicking off the heavy weight. Had she not… but it is a bright day, sunlight as bright as shadow bouncing off the glass, and her sleepy eyes burn. She must make it to the center.</p><p>The world grows hot and bright, shadow clawing at her back and path dusty with needful neglect. For some reason, the jutting stalk of corn jars her. No, not some reason: because it should not grow, not in soil a hair away from cracking, but the corn is unnervingly healthy.</p><p>Elle turns sidewise and away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Monsters and Maidens - and Knights, I Suppose</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lady Sansa Tully used to believe in true knights before one tried to steal her from the river into an encampment, beating her when she attempted to escape her imminent rape. Now, though a maid still, she is aware that life is no song. In songs, maidens do not kill men of dishonor; they are saved by knights, not knives.</p><p>	Ser Jaime Lannister, recently knighted, wishes only to be a true knight from the songs, not a Lord. Still though he does not wish to leave his twin, he is resigned, for Father is considering good matches for Cersei, and as Heir to the Rock he need choose a Lady Wife. To that end, a grand tourney being hosted at Harrenhal seems a blessing. Like in the songs, Jaime hopes to find a Lady Love to be the Queen of Love and Beauty that his Lady Mother was to Father.</p><p>	Secondborn daughter she may be, Lady Sansa Tully is lovely like the Maiden, with a keen mind, a sweet if somewhat haughty nature, and sad eyes.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Three Years Previous… </strong>
</p><p>“She stabbed him in the belly, milord; it’ll be a slow, painful death for him who tried to steal the Lady,” Lord Hoster’s man smiled grimly. “T’was a slaughter of the rest though m’ afeared, and the Lady Sansa lay witness t’ it.”</p><p>“But she remains a maid?”</p><p>“Aye,” he agreed, to his Lord’s breath of relief, which seemed more gratitude than politics for once.</p><p>Lady Sansa was a sweet lass, strong like the Lady Catelyn for lack of mother but gentle like her Lady Mother in a way Lady Catelyn, raised by Septas and men, lacked, and the least like to aggrieve Lord Tully a’fore this travesty. The Lord may’ve been proud to bursting of his eldest, a Lady but raised a son until the birth of little Lord Edmure had allowed her to step back into a better womanly role, but Lady Sansa was easiest on him in the raising, having inherited his natural political skill. Lady Lysa on the other hand was a petulant, pouty little thing still, acting younger still than she should and more impetuous, too.</p><p>*</p><p>The burnished copper Riverlands braids, combined, make for a circlet an inch thick, but below that the hair blows loose as she watches the children play with a sharp eye as she penned her letter.</p><p>
  <strong>Dearest Father, </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Before you hear from your bannermen, from Harrenhal I bid you news both good and shocking. As to the good, Ser Jaime Lannister, knighted on the road to the tourney by Ser Arthur Dayne himself, did ask for my favor, and placed favorably in the lists. He was third, losing out only to the Sword of the Morning and the Prince himself, who won the tournament. While His Grace did attempt to honor Ser Jaime with a white cloak, he respectfully declined for having come to love me from afar, and wishing to ask your permission to court me. Afar indeed he must have come to love me, sight unseen and word unspoken in the Riverlands from the distance of Casterly Rock, but I will divulge more of this courtly love when I lay mine eyes upon you, Father. </strong>
</p><p>Hoster would think on the politics on the second reading, for the White Cloak bit was obviously a power play by the King disrupted by the Lannisters (and it was good to hear the boy had inherited the cunning of Tywin, for his children deserved only the best of all suitors), but for now chuckled sadly at his sweetest daughter’s cynicism and sarcasm. Sansa had become so solemn, though still lovely with it, since those craven rapers had stolen her from her swim in a smaller, less perilous tributary of the Trident, and luckily stole not the innocence of her body though in mind they had done so.</p><p><strong>While I doubt the love of a knight who has not yet proven his love in a quest for his Lady,</strong> continued the sarcasm that could be read as maidenly innocence had he not known his daughter disabused of such notions too well, <strong>I will say that, should his Lord Father allow it, it would indeed be a high match for a secondborn daughter, and if such should please my own Lord Father, such pleases me. </strong></p><p>
  <strong>I must now share with you darker words, however. When Prince Rhaegar won the tourney, there was shortly a scandal, for he did ride past far pregnant Princess Elia to a silent grounds to name a shocked Lady Lyanna Stark his Queen of Love and Beauty. As they should be, Lord Baratheon and Lord Brandon are wroth at the insult to the Lady, that the Prince should think to take my future goodsister for a Mistress, and Lya was quite frightened, thankfully not silly enough to be flattered by the Prince’s regard. Even if unaware of the fullness of the political implications there, she is aware that the Prince implied to set aside his wife for a younger girl betrothed to another - in front of said wife, said betrothed, her family, future goodfamily and the King. Still, Cat should not suffer with Lord Brandon, for he did rally the Northern men at Harrenhal to guard us womenfolk down to the last washerwoman Northern and Riverlander alike, and on your behalf, Uncle Brynden arranged the same in coordination with them – and also gifted Lya with a small blade to keep up her sleeve, should the swords of good men fail her. Naturally, the Dornish are seething like a pit of vipers to see Princess Elia so slighted by her Lord Husband, although they seem to take Lord Brandon’s response as Lya’s innocence in the matter – which I assure her paleness and shaking at the rose crown were quite real. My future goodsister is indeed a maid, and not wanton, and that is the truth of it. The rest of the tourney we mayhap need speak of in person. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Uncertain of how to end this missive, I send to you, </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>All My Love, Sansa</strong>
</p><p>Hoster sucked in a sharp breath. ‘Scandal.’ Sansa had a gift for understatement, more so than even he had realized. This was a political disaster that, pushed further, could lead to war between the Iron Throne, the North and Dorne, and due to the troth between Stark and Baratheon the Stormlands. The Tyrells would certainly jump in on the dragons’ side, the Westerlands were debatable, and the Vale’s allegiance depended on how close the second son had come to Jon Arryn. One tourney with an impetuous Prince and whispers of madness in the King (since Duskendale, at least) had turned Westeros into a pyromancer’s delight: ready to burn at the slightest spark.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Truth Be Told I'm Lying</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Someone as stupid or hotheaded as Ichigo had portrayed would have died bloody, and Kisuke had figured that out in the aftermath of him hemorrhaging soul even if no one else did. Sansa too wears masks of what people expect to see, so it's rather fitting, then, that she was once Kurosaki Ichigo.<br/>Who Urahara Kisuke ended up as is a story for later, though.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask and he will tell you the truth."</em> - Oscar Wilde</p>
<p>Ichigo may have portrayed a certain image to Soul Society – a hotheaded fighter altogether rather brainless – but even if they bought it, an idiot he was not.</p>
<p>How does an idiot raise two children while still a child, work odd jobs to pay the bills without getting formally drawn into the yakuza, successfully invade a military state on ten days of training with a force of four teenagers and a cat, and remain second in class rankings while fighting a war (not particularly trying)? No, someone as stupid or hotheaded as Ichigo had portrayed would have died bloody, and Kisuke had figured that out in the aftermath of him hemorrhaging soul even if no one else did.</p>
<p>Sansa too wears masks: bright but unmotivated, the Little Mother, the fairytale dreamer. Of course she reads poetry (she’d enjoyed it in her previous life too), but if no one notices her reading histories and political treatises with a romance beside it, that’s their own problem – and just as well. Ichigo or Sansa, she’s always liked to play into stereotypes for those that cannot see beyond her mask.</p>
<p>Ichigo fought all his life. Sansa isn’t Ichigo, really, but she rather enjoys that her mother would sooner chop all of her hair off than see Sansa pick up a sword.</p>
<p>(That doesn’t mean she won’t carry knives and tessen, though. Elegance didn’t save Elia Martell.)</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Then Marry a Blackwood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Does the South not hold vows as sacred?" Lyanna demanded with venom.</p><p>'Or: what would have happened if Rhaegar hadn't preyed on a fourteen year old and had instead tried (and failed) to charm a young woman.' - PearlBear</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"If you mean to demean a Princess of Dorne and insult a Stark of Winterfell, you have, indeed, succeeded: each of us is wroth. Does the South not hold vows as sacred?" Lyanna demanded with venom. "You are a married man with a pregnant wife, Your Highness, and whatever his temperament I am <em>betrothed</em>. If you shall not hold to a pact, I cannot stop you from inciting Dorne, but it shall not be with me."</p><p>"The Song of Ice and Fire -" </p><p>"Then marry a Blackwood!" she threw her hands up, storming away.</p><p>"Lady Lyanna, please re-" he made to grab her arm as she turned.</p><p>"If it <em>please</em>," Lyanna hissed, quite with the implication 'or even if it does not', "I've need to prostrate myself before Princess Elia and assure her that I had no desire to lure you from her bed like a wanton whore, for indeed you have shamed me with the implication that I might be your mistress. Good <em>day</em>, Your Highness."   </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. A Prince of Dorne Will Do</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I am fond of you, Arya," Edric admitted softly, ruefully.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I am fond of you, Arya," Edric admitted softly, ruefully. "And yet you are now a Princess of the Free North. None would hand you to those thrice-be-damned Lannisters, not in Dorne," he promised swiftly at her scowl, "but our marriage will not serve."</p><p>"And who would you <em>advise</em> I wed then, my Lord?" Arya demanded with all due fire and sarcasm.</p><p>"Would a Prince of Dorne do?" Trystane inquired from the doorway.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Make This Mountain Taller (Legacy)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I'd rather a kind man than a powerful one, Margaery; 'tis a rare thing, your Father," Alerie had admitted.<br/>"Some monsters are fair of face," Prince Oberyn had murmured, deep in his cups with Willas.<br/>"Ah, but the real power there is Tywin," Olenna had snorted once.<br/>All of these, they echoed in her mind.</p><p>i stand<br/>on the sacrifices<br/>of a million women before me<br/>thinking<br/><em>what can i do<br/>to make this mountain taller<br/>so the women after me<br/>can see farther</em><br/>- legacy, Rupi Kaur</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>"I'd rather a kind man than a powerful one, Margaery; 'tis a rare thing, your Father,"</em> Alerie had admitted.</p><p><em>"Some monsters are fair of face,"</em> Prince Oberyn had murmured, deep in his cups with Willas.</p><p><em>"Ah, but the real power there is Tywin,"</em> Olenna had snorted once.</p><p>All of these, they echoed in her mind. </p><p>"But the real power of the throne is Tywin," Margaery offered softly.</p><p>"And he's a White Cloak, an alcoholic and an Imp and has yet to remarry, girl," their grandmother snorted. "Good concept; lacks execution."</p><p>"Ah, but he's without direct Heirs but for the Imp, Grandmother," she pointed out. "T'were I to promise him grandsons trueborn and hale, though?"</p><p>"MY Margie with the<em> IMP</em>?!" Father roared.</p><p>"Oh, shut up Mace!" Olenna snapped. "The two richest Houses in the Seven Kingdoms, joined and like as not to be favored with Royal Marriages in future, when the throne Tywin's monster of a grandson sits on is in desperate need of food provisions and the brat's own sons with proper brides. Margaery has the right of it, and like it or not the Imp isn't the worst face I've seen a highborn marry," she harrumphed. "It's a damn good idea."</p><p>"Especially since no one else wants him," Willas nodded thoughtfully, "more fool they. The Imp will be skipped over for Warden of the West in favor of his son no doubt, and sweet Margie the boy's mother. Besides, for all he's an Imp, he's been considerate enough to be discrete since he became Acting Hand and will like as not, not extend dishonor on a highborn bride. He whores about <em>because</em> he lacks for proper prospects, methinks."</p><p>"Seems a waste, the Rose of Highgarden on an Imp," Loras grumbled.</p><p>"Despite his deformity, he's of excellent lineage and even more excellent wealth," Marge shrugged delicately. "And Lord Tywin has been the power behind the throne for three kings. Still, any man needs a proper blood legacy, and Lord Tyrion is the only current path to such. Once I have the Heir, I have his ear. Besides, I'd rather avoid wedding the King, personally: the rumors coming out of the Capitol smallfolk... well, word is he's beating Lady Sansa at full Court for her brother's battles. Can we trust he'd be gentler if my firstborn is a daughter?" she worried her lip. "I want the power to make change for the better and for the better of our House, not to risk abuse."</p><p>"What's this about the Stark girl, then?" Willas' chivalry was offended. "No," he and Olenna agreed. "No, we shan't risk you on a cruel boy, not the Rose of Highgarden."</p><p>"The Rose of the West," she corrected perfectly pleasantly.</p><p>Mace, naturally, lit up at the idea of such title for his precious girl.</p><p>"Can you be happy with him?" Garlan frowned.</p><p>"Lord Tyrion is not known for cruelty," Margaery shrugged. "In any case, love comes after the cloaking, and rumor tells of his intelligence and wit. I do not think I will be <em>un</em>happy. A known lusty thing will certainly give me plenty of children, too, will he not?" </p><p>Alerie considered her daughter.</p><p>"The Rose of the West," she agreed.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. An Excellent Father Already</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Now you must promise me you won't peek, Sweetling. We are playing a game."<br/>"Hide 'n' Seek?" little Rhaenys blinked as she was bundled into Howland shoulder, under his cloak.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Now you must promise me you won't peek, Sweetling. We are playing a game."</p><p>"Like hide 'n' seek?" little Rhaenys blinked as she was bundled into Howland shoulder, under his cloak. Luckily she was a small thing. </p><p>"Yes, hide and seek," he rumbled soothingly. "You must hide 'til we are with your Nuncles in Dorne, Princess."</p><p>T'was also the only place left Lyanna could be, Gods damn Rhaegar for the final insult.</p><p>"I good! I see where Mama born!" She paused. "Mama come?"</p><p>"She can't, Sweetling," Ned swallowed. "She's - she's with Prince Aegon, now. But we must be very quiet lest the bad men seek us out, hm?"</p><p>The little Princess nodded, pressing a finger to her own lips.</p><p>"You are an excellent Father already," praised Dustin softly.</p><p>"Make sure one of the Dornish children the Lannisters butchered is pressed into the Princess' clothes. And unrecognizable," he said softly to Glover, turning faintly green. Still, it need be done. <em>Children! Children, slaughtered! </em>"I will distract Robert while you get her out, and join you later on with the Prince and Princess'... bones."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Sun of Sands and Snows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Elia would like a paramour, but a man wouldn't be appropriate, casting the parentage of her children into question. Thankfully, a woman would serve just as well.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Assassins! Assassins and plots!" Aerys screeched, showcasing his madness to the whole of the Realm. "Bring him to me!"</p><p>"That is no man," Elia chuckled softly behind a dainty hand. "You'd think, with a wife, t'would recognize a maid." </p><p>"My Princess?" Rhaegar blinked, startled.</p><p>"I am of Dorne, husband," she pointed out. "I can tell when a woman dresses as a man. When you find her, you <em>will</em> name her Queen of Love and Beauty for me, won't you darling?" Elia smiled sweetly.</p><p>"As you wish it, my love," he smiled indulgently, pecking her on the cheek as a hand pressed lightly to her belly. "But now as my King bids I must go."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Mend and Make Do</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mother survives Edmure's birthing, barely, and Lysa is grateful. Without her mother she knows not what she'd do (especially in this moment).</p><p>let it go<br/>let it leave<br/>let it happen<br/>nothing<br/>in this world<br/>was promised or<br/>belonged to you anyway</p><p>-<em> all you own is yourself</em></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mother survives Edmure's birthing, barely, and Lysa is grateful. Without her mother she knows not what she'd do (especially in this moment). Now, she runs to her, disheveled and disenfranchised. She cries hot tears into her mother's shoulder and drinks the tea (tansy, careful brewed) provided. Lysa is ruined, ruined for a boy who calls her as her admittedly prettier sister. </p><p>"We tell no one, sweetling," Mama murmured, "especially not your Father, and I shall find you a proper match at Harrenhal. But I am sorry, for your sake, that <em>The Boy</em> is never satisfied with the good he is granted, instead ever aspiring to heights beyond his station."</p><p>"Who would <em>have</em> me, Mama?" Lysa sniffled.</p><p>"Well, most any man from Dorne, I might think," Minisa reassured. "Yes, and we do need their foodstuffs imports, since the fruit goes bad faster over long sea trips. 'Tis a wilder and hotter place, my love, but not a bad one," she promised at Lysa's shocked look. "Oh, I shall teach you of Dorne myself instead of leaving that to the Septa. You are old enough that we might dismiss her anyhow," she waved off. "Yes, I shall teach you personally. You will enjoy the freedom of Dorne, I think; they believe that women own their own bodies, you know, instead of their husbands doing. I had thought to make a different match for you, my poor, dreamy love, but we shall mend and make do." </p><p>*</p><p>Oberyn hadn't seen Obara smile since he'd taken her from her mother. He regretted the manner in which he had done so, but not the doing. Refusing to mother other children in favor of raising your daughter in a pillowhouse - why the very <em>thought</em>! Every thought of the woman made his belly burn with ghost pepper. </p><p>Obara was smiling <em>now</em>, playing with the fiery-haired Lady, in a way he'd never seen, crooked and lovely. It wasn't his daughter's fault, of course, that he desired the Lady with her fire and laughter, but he did. A highborn Lady of the North (and to Oberyn and the Dornish, <em>everything</em> was North) playing Monsters and Maidens with a baseborn child? <em>As the Monster, no less,</em> he chuckled, <em>my daughter the knight and a doll the maiden. </em></p><p>He meant to marry a woman who could make his children smile like that, and if she would know his daughters to be his natural children and not pale away or flinch back from him, he <em>would</em> have her hand.</p><p>Whatever her House and politics, Doran could just mend and make do.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Let No Man Steal Your Thyme</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She had thought to trap Petyr, but one of Mother's songs echoed in her ears high and clear.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She had thought to trap Petyr, but one of Mother's songs echoed in her ears high and clear:</p><p>"Come all you fair and tender girls<br/>Who flourish in your prime<br/>Beware, beware<br/>Keep your garden fair<br/>Let no man steal your thyme<br/>Let no man steal your thyme</p><p>For when your thyme it is past and gone<br/>He'll care no more for you<br/>And every place where your thyme was waste<br/>Will all spread o'er with rue<br/>Will all spread o'er with rue</p><p>The gardener's son was standing by<br/>Three flowers he gave to me<br/>The pink, the blue and the lilac true<br/>And the red, red rosy tree<br/>And the red, red rosy tree</p><p>But I refused the red rose bush<br/>And gained the willow tree<br/>That all the world may plainly see<br/>How my love slighted me<br/>How my love slighted me"</p><p>It had sounded clear as if Mother was with them again.</p><p>Mama had explained it to her once, how even the most noble of men would try to plant themselves in a Lady's garden and steal her 'thyme', and then did not wish to reap what he had sown. Mama had been a woman with wisdom to spare - a hard woman, but strong for all that, Minisa Whent Tully had only gentled herself for her children. The gloss of memory had not gentled her any, nor softened with fond remembrance. No, Lysa recalled her true; sharp and clear and strong; and with such an example, Lysa hoped to flourish where she was to go.</p><p>She felt sorry for Cat for once, she did, losing Lord Brandon, but more so for Lysa's new betrothed who had lost his father and brother. A match between their Houses as it should have been was proper, of course, but to push it on Cat for the war effort, and so soon? No, let her sister grieve: Lysa would wed Lord Stark.</p><p>T'was her duty to her family, not to further Cat's hurts.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. I Loved a Maid as Warm as Kindling, With Ember in Her Eyes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Brynden Tully loved a maid once. Not as a man loved a woman, no, but as one loved lovely things, and she him as a woman loved a protector. It was an understanding more than a marriage they held, him and Corisande Ryger, built on fond and warm regard, and when she had named the only child they'd ever have after his 'dear friend' Erian Lolliston (something Hoster had nearly banished him from the Riverlands for, had he not himself spoken to Coris), he nearly laughed aloud, for the man's face would be a sight to see. </p><p>Brynden Tully had loved a maid once, but once was enough for the f***ing, thanks, and he would not wed again.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Seasons of My Love – Traditional Myrish Folk Ballad (George R. R. Martin &amp; Natti Vogel)</p><p>I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair</p><p>I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair</p><p>I loved a maid as white as winter, with moonglow in her hair</p><p>I loved a maid as spry as springtime, with blossoms in her hair</p><p> </p><p>As the land changes masks, so follow my maids &amp; I</p><p>Whether balmy hot and sopping wet or cutting sweet and dry</p><p>Ere my life the good lords fell, I’ll prize the memory of</p><p>Each and every lass I’ve held for a spell - the seasons of my love</p><p> </p><p>I loved a maid as wet as meadows, with dewdrops in her lips</p><p>I loved a maid as thick as honey, with nectar in her lips</p><p>I loved a maid as shy as snowflakes, with purple in her lips</p><p>I loved a maid as fresh as sea spray, with eddies in her lips</p><p> </p><p>I loved a maid as strong as dreamwine, with phantoms in her eyes</p><p>I loved a maid as tart as cider, with amber in her eyes</p><p>I loved a maid as warm as kindling, with ember in her eyes</p><p>I loved a maid as light as cotton, with lacework in her eyes</p><p>One cup for every lass that I’ve held for a spell</p><p>You are the seasons of my love</p><p> </p><p>Brynden Tully loved a maid once. Not as a man loved a woman, no, but as one loved lovely things, and she him as a woman loved a protector. It was an understanding more than a marriage they held, him and Corisande Ryger, built on fond and warm regard, and when she had named the only child they'd ever have after his 'dear friend' Erian Lolliston (something Hoster had nearly banished him from the Riverlands for, had he not himself spoken to Coris), he nearly laughed aloud, for the man's face would be a sight to see as much as his brother's had been.</p><p>Brynden Tully had loved a maid once, but once was enough for the fucking, thanks, and he would not wed again.</p><p>Not even for Hoster's sake. Not even for Tully sons to carry on the line lest something happen to Edmure.</p><p>Erianthe was a lovely thing herself, much like her late Lady Mother: warm and quiet, but with Tully blue eyes and hair of fire and gold instead of summer and sunlight. Like a hearth fire, she could warm or she could burn, and you would not know which 'til her flames had flared. Oh his little girl had a temper, burning slow and then flaring wildly at the last, but she rarely showed it, sweet as honey and gentle as the flickering of candlelight in the dark – oft with ink-stained hands or speckled with her paints as she illustrated exquisitely delicate storybooks.</p><p>It seemed a waste to… well, waste her promise on a Lannister, either Ser Jaime should he be released from the Kingsguard as ol’ Tywin wished or the man’s Imp, even for the war effort. Oh she’d get along with any husband, his Eri, but only because she’d never make a comment should they not be permissive, simply going about her day until she finally blew like the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria. Erianthe was a bright thing, and her intelligence wasted on most men. She required a husband not too prideful to listen to her counsel, and Brynden may not know those boys for true but Tywin was nothing but pride.</p><p>Brynden almost preferred the dwarf, to be honest, even if their children might too be cursed such. From what he had seen of Ser Jaime at Harrenhal, the boy was cocky with his prowess – reasonably so, yes, but more than deserved. Had he a brain the boy’d have turned down that White Cloak at the offering, knowing himself for Aerys’ hostage. That he didn’t said something of either his intelligence or undeserved pride.</p><p>At least the Imp, it was said, had his Lord Father’s intellect, perhaps brighter still, and no Imp could dare be the tyrant that Tywin was – though even he had treated the Lady Joanna with gentle care. Besides, with the boy being only nine namedays himself, three Eri’s junior, her body would have more time to develop before he was old enough to wed. When the boy came of proper age, and though they could likely wed as far as two years younger than that Brynden cringed to think of his sweet babe actually in the marriage bed, she’d be a mature nine-and-ten.</p><p>He sort of hated Hoster, for negotiating his sweet girl’s betrothal.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Raise a Toast to Maggy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“When will I wed the Prince?”<br/>“Never. You shall wed the King.”</p>
<p>She didn’t understand, then, t’was not a prophecy but a curse.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“I will be queen, though?” </em>
  <br/>
  <em>“Aye. Queen you shall be... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Will the king and I have children?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you. Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds.”</em>
</p>
<p>Joffrey.</p>
<p>Tommen. </p>
<p>Myrcella.</p>
<p>All that she loved, gone from her. </p>
<p>Power: all that she had left to hold dear, about to be stolen by a younger and more beautiful Queen.</p>
<p>
  <em>“And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you.”</em>
</p>
<p>Queen of the Ashes, and tears and ashes in her mouth enough to drown in, Cersei almost longed for it. <br/><br/>It occurred to her now that it might not be Tyrion. It occurred to her, now, that she might not wish it to be. </p>
<p>Let Jaime soothe his soul killing mad kings. Hers could not be soothed, having lost her precious children.</p>
<p>She didn’t understand, then, t’was not a prophecy but a curse.</p>
<p>“A toast to Maggy, who indeed got the last laugh,” Cersei murmured into her goblet, quaffing wine and tears.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. As It Should Have Been</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sansa wants someone of a Princely character, not simply Princely title, and Joffrey Baratheon does not meet these requirements.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"His Grace wishes to join our Houses, sweetling," her father looked uncomfortable, "but I am uncertain as to Prince Joffrey's character."</p><p>"He comes across as false," Sansa agreed quietly, biting lightly at her bottom lip - a bad habit Mother had been trying to break her of.</p><p>She considered. It would be a great honor for their House and Sansa personally to be made Queen, but the power to affect change is of little good if your husband does not allow you to use it. The Prince strikes her as... slimy, also, and controlling. Sansa wants someone of a Princely character, not simply Princely title, and Joffrey Baratheon does not meet these requirements. If Father had simply announced her betrothal that was one matter, but he had asked of her, her thoughts on the matter, and so she would propose an alternative.<em> But whom...? Oh!</em></p><p>“What of Lord Renly, Father? Is he not still unwed? Then a Stark girl would be Lady of Storm’s End, as it should have been. Would that not please the King?”</p><p>"He is unwed, yes, and that might very well please Robert, but you have heard the... <em>rumors</em>, Sweet Wolf?" Ned hesitated.</p><p>Sansa nodded easily, not much concerned with her potential betrothed having a lover - even a male one. The notion did not disturb her, for though it brought her no illness as she'd heard one of the chambermaids claim, the idea of physical intimacy left her cold and unfulfilled. She did not think it would be pleasurable as still other matrons claimed it to be no matter the man's skill in such things, and so her future husband having a lover was a blessing indeed. And Sansa herself found beauty in both man and maiden, so she could not begrudge Lord Renly a lover who was also a man, especially as he would beget no baseborn children that way.</p><p>"But he would do his duty still, would he not? Even with a nature as such he requires an Heir."</p><p>Ned paused.</p><p>"I would speak to him. If not, we shall see if His Grace will accept Arya to Prince Tommen - but Sansa, we <em>cannot</em> count on this."</p><p>"I understand, Father," she smiled uncertainly, leaning up to kiss his cheek. At his faint smile and nod, Sansa curtsied and went her way.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. No Great Beauty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Selyse was no great beauty like her cousin Melessa, nor a delicate one like Rhea, but she was no ugly thing either. She hoped their daughter took after her paternal grandmother, for truth - strong of build, as Selyse, but pretty with it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"A girl!"</p>
<p>"Shireen," she breathed, the couple already having decided on names for each just in case.</p>
<p>Selyse was no great beauty like her cousin Melessa, nor a delicate one like Rhea, but she was no ugly thing either. She hoped their daughter took after her paternal grandmother, for truth - strong of build, as Selyse, but pretty with it.</p>
<p>Something dropped abruptly, like a weight of stone falling down upon her pelvis, and Selyse screamed. <em>The pain is so much sharper! Am I dying?</em></p>
<p>"There's another!" the Maester cried out.</p>
<p>She screamed out the pain of the birth, loud and long and begging a prayer that this babe would not take as long as Shireen had (the babe was <em>big</em>), but in truth, t'was only another hour or so.  </p>
<p>"We have the head and shoulders now, milady; just a few pushes more," the midwife promised.</p>
<p>Once they were past the shoulders, though, t'was of enough ease that she could breathe through the pain again, as she had the six hours previous. </p>
<p>"A boy, my Lady!" the Maester crowed as if he'd anything to do with it. Still, Selyse smiled, breathing heavily as she rested, waving her attendant off to see to her babes instead of wiping her brow of sweat.</p>
<p>Weakly, listening to her babes cry, she unwound and braided her thick hair again, waiting with baited breath for a clean bill of health, or as much of one as could be told in this day and age.  </p>
<p>"Strong and healthy both, milady," the midwife promised, which she trusted better than any promise of a Maester. He hadn't even known to cleanse his hands before and after. "A quick birth, blessed by the Seven to only last as many hours as Gods."</p>
<p>"Hand them to me, please. And send for my husband, if you would?" Selyse took a deep breath, fortifying herself. Would he love them as he would never love her, or would it be another cold nod of duty?</p>
<p>The babes suckled each at a breast (she'd alternate with a wetnurse so as to sleep at night, but the care and tenderness of a mother was best, she felt), and when Stannis entered... she had never seen him so awed. He came to her, stroking Shireen's fine baby hairs.</p>
<p>"I apologize for my appearance, my Lord," she smiled weakly, "but have I not done right by you? A lovely doe and a strong stag."</p>
<p>"You <em>have</em> done right by me and House Baratheon," Stannis rumbled his promise, taking his Heir in arms with such care as you might think the boy spun glass. But he was not looking at his son when he said, "And you have never looked more beautiful." </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Waking From Stone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stark girls have a duty, and that duty lies in the Crypts.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Little did Father speak of Aunt Lyanna, but Sansa remembers this:</p><p>A song in the Old Tongue of death and stone, sung and known to all of them though only Sansa had bothered to learn the translation.</p><p>“Lyanna should have passed this to you as the firstborn daughter, Sweetling, as mother did to me when she was afeared no daughters would come, but remember the song for me. It takes blood to wake stone – <em>Stark</em> blood. As the eldest daughter of Winterfell, should anything happen, it is your duty to take your siblings to the crypts. That was all Mother would say of it; she said we would know.”</p><p>Sansa cuts her arm shallowly with the dragonglass dagger gifted her by Arya and allows it to pool lower, in her hand.</p><p>“Lady Sansa!” Lord Tyrion looks to her, shocked. “What are you –?”</p><p>“An old North spell,” she states firmly.</p><p>He looks skeptical for a moment before recalling there to be direwolves and dragons and wights about and withdrawing the comment before it can leave his lips, and for the first time in ages, Sansa <em>sings</em>. Her voice is rusty with disuse, for she has had little to sing about these past years, but it is the words, intent and clarity that matter here, not the prettiness. Mayhap the world is not a song as Lord Baelish had duly informed her, or at least not a happy song, but she is no longer Alayne and if there is a time to believe in the songs and tales of old, it is <em>now</em>.</p><p>She does not go to Robb’s statue. Robb, who did not love her enough to have her smuggled out of the capital when a single <em>whoremonger</em> managed it. She does not go to Aunt Lyanna’s statue, a romantic tale somehow made far less romantic by plunging Westeros into a war, or Father, who loved her and Arya enough to confess to false treasons but knew her not at all, or wild Uncle Brandon or further back along the line. No, Sansa caressed her blood onto the face of Grandfather Rickard, who died by violence in a place he nor she ever wished to see again. Grandfather, political and made stern by cold and loss and deeply loving of his family and their futures, who knew their value and for it the madness of the dragons. He, who Sansa felt would understand her best, though she daren’t think any of the family might like her outside duty when not even her own sister did.</p><p>The song finished its echo through the crypts, and the stone woke to her call – <em>all</em> the stone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey, so I've had a lot of RL problems going on recently. I've outlined a few more chapters of Crying in the Club, but it's going to be a while before I get up the willpower to actually write them. My mother cut me off because I refused to be verbally assaulted and insisted she go to anger management, so I've had to buy a new phone (an expense I really can't afford), she deleted all the iTunes I bought and kept the money she owes me in a fit of pettiness, and I've stopped talking to her completely. On top of that, my grandmother ended up in the hospital after a fall and now needs 24/7 home care lest she end up in a nursing home and us on the streets, so I'm currently sleeping in shifts with a roommate and am constantly exhausted. I also don't have a car, so can't leave the house at all, not even to go to the bank or grocery store. <br/>So yes, 2021 is looking even shittier than 2020 for me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. I Compose My Destiny (I Do Not Sing Your Songs)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sansa was gently bred. That didn’t mean, however, that she was unaware of what it meant when a man asked her for a ‘song’, even then. Looking back on that shaking, fearful night, after Littlefinger, after Ramsay, knowing that the crudest man in the Seven Kingdoms hadn’t, wouldn’t hurt her, even drunken and lost in fear of the burning night…</p>
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    <p>He hadn’t approached her, skulking around the edges of the camp, so Sansa, once she had the time (or, rather, <em>made</em> the time) went to him. When Sandor looked up from his tankard to see her, his eyes shown with fear. He drank her in with admiration, though.</p><p>“Heard tell you’re not a Little Bird anymore, Red Wolf,” Sandor nodded respectfully, though with a hint of sadness to his eyes. “How’d ya kill ‘im?”</p><p>Her lips curved up in a tiny smirk.</p><p>“Hounds.”</p><p>He barked a laugh, as she’d expected. Sansa didn’t sing anymore. No, Sansa composed her own songs, these days. She hoped that this, as her undermining the political standing a woman with dragons by subtly refusing to bend, would craft a song of its own. Jon may be a fool for love (or at least what was between Daenerys’ legs), but <em>she</em> was aware that the last Stark King to bend to dragon fire was mocked Northerly to this day as 'The King Who Knelt'. Regardless, there was a second song here, mayhap.</p><p>Sansa was gently bred. That didn’t mean, however, that she was unaware of what it meant when a man asked her for a ‘song’, even then. Looking back on that shaking, fearful night, after Littlefinger, after Ramsay, knowing that the crudest man in the Seven Kingdoms hadn’t, <em>wouldn’t</em> hurt her, even drunken and lost in fear of the burning night… even when she gave him (held in her mind in sharp relief) the Mother’s Hymn instead of what she’d known him to <em>actually</em> want of her…</p><p>“Thank you for your truths, as little as I wanted to hear them,” Sansa offered softly. “I owe you a debt.”</p><p>“Don’t owe me shit, Lady Stark,” he grunted. “Left ya there, din’t I?”</p><p>“I refused you,” she corrected.</p><p>“Half mad ‘n’ drunk off my ass an askin’ for a song, Little Wolf? You were right ta.”</p><p>“You asked,” she conceded, “and I refused you, and you staggered off. If you were the man you thought you were, you wouldn’t have.”</p><p>“If I were that much of a cunt, I should be deader,” Sandor snorted.</p><p>"Well, the cunt that did, <em>is</em>,” she stated bluntly, the turn of phrase strange on her lips.</p><p>Sandor didn’t laugh at the crude word on her lips; he simply looked sad.</p><p>“’M sorry, Little Red. Sorry you were put away rough.”</p><p>Being in public, she swallowed back a welling of tears. More of her people were impressed the manner of Ramsey’s death – wolf-like, they said – than was sympathetic to what she had endured before getting to that point. Of course, very few had actually lain witness to her flaying scars.</p><p>“Thank you, Sandor.” He startled at the use of his name.</p><p>Mayhap this, as changed as they were by time, was something they could build upon. </p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Reach For the Stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I don’t know, Sansa,” Jeyne fretted. “You’ve made your name in Historical, Political and Fantasy. Science Fiction? It’s a joke. This could ruin your career.”<br/>“Or make my career,” Sansa countered. “How often do women get one of the lead roles in a non-historical piece that isn’t a romance, Jeyne? Read the pilot script, look at the producer: it’s not only well-written, it’s Casterly Company, reliable as rock. And I didn’t make it to the Gold Screen from the Oldtown Stage by refusing to take chances, you know.”<br/>“If you’re sure…” she said uneasily.<br/>“Not at all,” Sansa snorted with an unusual lack of elegance, “but I haven’t seen Cersei Lannister since Gold Their Crowns and Shrouds and she remembered me well enough to recommend me. That’s worth going down in flames for."</p>
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    <p>That was a crazy addition, and she stared at him incredulously.</p>
<p>“I’m a Maester, not a - a magician!”</p>
<p>Everyone burst out laughing.</p>
<p>“That was brilliant, Miss Stark!” Mister Lannister chortled. “You’ve got the part.”</p>
<p>“You should make that a running jape,” technical consultant and former (successful) comedian Bronn Lannsword pointed out with a smirk.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“A mini-skirt as part of the uniform? This isn’t about objectifying women!” Mister Lannister protested vehemently.</p>
<p>Sansa was quite gratified by the sentiment, but kept her tone mild.</p>
<p>“Have you considered something like Bravosi dancing skirts?” Sansa interjected. “Still good-looking and great for hiding weapons under, or so my sister tells me. It’s the only type of skirt we can get her into.”</p>
<p>Both the gentleman and the costume designer blinked at her, likely unaware that her sister was a War Correspondent and former military, but Sansa was swiftly distracted by a pleased-sounding call of her name.</p>
<p>“Sansa, Little Dove!”</p>
<p>(‘A fierce wolf, trembling like a little dove,’ Cersei had mocked that first day on set, testing her as she did all women, as women rarely dared with men.</p>
<p>‘A dove trembling with feminist rage, Miss Drama Queen? That seems unusual,’ Sansa had countered mildly.</p>
<p>‘I like you,’ she’d barked a laugh.</p>
<p>‘Well I’m still deciding.’)</p>
<p>“Queenie!” she spun around, grinning. “Gods, it’s been too long! How have you been? Baratheon not still bothering you?” Sansa checked with a worried frown.</p>
<p>“Besides turning Joffrey into a nightmare child who refuses to see me?” Cersei sighed. “No, I haven’t spoken to him since we rearranged the custody agreement. Otherwise the children and I are doing well enough. Oh, you haven’t met Jaime or Tommen yet, have you?”</p>
<p>“I haven’t,” Sansa agreed. “He was on tour when we filmed together before, and Rickon broke his leg dancing <em>Thrice Wedded</em> around the time of the birth announcement.”</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s awful,” Cersei said with surprisingly genuine sympathy. Their parents hadn’t been half as considerate, not particularly appreciative of the arts believing that they were 1) not hard work and 2) not appropriate for a boy. “I did see that in the papers, I think. Are you still in touch with the Tyrells?”</p>
<p>“Not since Willas made a joke about career-ending injuries,” a thunderous look came upon her face. “I’m sure he meant it to be about solidarity, but when you have another brother in a wheelchair due to serving his country…”</p>
<p>Cersei hissed her agreement. “You’d think he’d know better.”</p>
<p>While she and Cersei had shared a certain womanly solidarity against sexist men and lower paychecks (which was no rare thing in these times) on set, what they had somewhat bonded over was fretting over their family members in the Service. Jaime Lannister, Cersei’s second husband, remained part of the elite Kingsguard Unit as far as Sansa was aware, and Robb was still swiftly climbing the ranks of the Wintercrown Unit, while Arya had just started her tour as a sniper at the time (Women weren’t allowed to be in front-line positions in the Westerosi military and had only been allowed in non-administrative positions since her Aunt Lyanna’s term in Service, but a sniper wasn’t front-line and apparently she was frighteningly good). Filming on <em>Gold Their Crowns and Shrouds</em> had started shortly after Bran’s medical invalidation, and although she hadn’t wanted to leave him, Sansa had easily seen how Mother’s fussing had bothered Bran and let him be despite her Mother’s fury that she would go at such a time. Even their cousin Jon (who Father had claimed as his to hide Aunt Lyanna’s teenage pregnancy) was in the Night’s Watch. Really, the only Starks that had never been in the military were Mother, herself, and Rickon, pleasing Mother and alienating them from the rest of the family, as even Father had been Drafted for the Iron Island War and not come back ‘til Sansa was four.</p>
<p>“What is Bran up to these days?”</p>
<p>“Attending peace protests in dress uniform, tripping out on mushrooms and writing a very strange fantasy series,” Sansa said straight-faced. If she were drinking, Cersei would have spit in laughing shock.</p>
<p>“What?!”</p>
<p>“Mother is furious,” Sansa nodded, trying to hold back a smirk. “So naturally he has my full support as long as his brain isn’t an omelet, and our relationship has improved.”</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. A Marriage That Might Suit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Her name is not Lyanna, and she'd care not to hear the name in bed, but if she can set her pride aside? Well, it will be her own children on the throne, and Cersei their dearest confidant and advisor. Not Father - her.</p>
<p>A much smarter Cersei plays the long game - and somehow wins a satisfactory marriage out of the ashes of her wedding night.</p>
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    <p>“I know that you may never love me,” Cersei stated simply, taking off her shift without fuss. <em>This is not a modest woman,</em> Robert admired. “I am not the Lady you hoped to wed, and cannot compare to her; I doubt that I alone can satisfy. Nonetheless, I hope that you will have a care for my reputation and keep your affairs quiet.”</p>
<p>Robert’s eyes widened. This was… not what he was expecting. Even Lyanna had been wary of his wenching, and had expected it to end when they wed. For her, he would have done it. With difficulty, but he would have done. Lady Cersei, however, was <em>condoning</em> his appetites so long as he had a care for her honor when he indulged them. <em>That</em> he could do.</p>
<p>She lay on the bed, hair spread like a golden pillow, looking like a Stormlander’s tale of the Maids of the Deep who sung their sweet songs to lure sailors to the depths. Her breasts were pert and firm with the flush of youth, her lips soft, and there was something… fragile, almost, about the strong woman he had met in the Sept. Something in her eyes. <em>She expects the worst,</em> Robert realized, <em>for me to disgrace her before the Court. I know I have a reputation, but for a Lady – my <strong>Lady Wife</strong> – to fear dishonor at my hand….</em></p>
<p>“I may never love you,” Robert agreed, “but you are my Queen, Lady Cersei. I would not shame you for the world.”</p>
<p>“I am obviously a maid,” she nodded, changing the subject. “I know more of the theory than most highborn women, since I’ve brothers, but you shall have to show me what to do and what you like.”</p>
<p>Robert grinned. <em>That</em> would certainly take his mind off things for a good long while.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Cersei, as he had come to call her, had both more and less a sexual appetite than Robert had thought she might. The sex was frequent and enthusiastic, but sometimes followed by deep periods of melancholy where she encouraged him to see whores. Of course, she always insisted that he see Pycelle after, to be certain he did not bring diseases to their bed, but that was her right as his Lady Wife; he did not wish to make her ill in exchange for her generosity.</p>
<p>There was no thrill of the illicit, since Cersei not only condoned but encouraged Robert’s wanderings when she was not up to the task of sating his high sex drive, but there needn’t be. It felt, rather, a comfortable compromise, like a standard part of their marriage. He did not dishonor her by parading about his conquests or lying with highborns, and she saw that his needs were met even if not personally so.</p>
<p>When Cersei told him that she was with child, Robert was thrilled. He spun her around the room with a booming laugh.</p>
<p>“I do not wish to get your hopes up only to disappoint, Your Grace, but I am carrying low, which oft means a boy child. I thought, perhaps, Edric “Ned” Baratheon, in honor of the brother who named his firstborn after <em>you</em>?”</p>
<p>His grin only grew. He’d expected Cersei to favor Lannister names, he realized, for all that she was his greatest ally at Court besides Jon, but while not a Baratheon name, ‘Edric’ was Stormlander by origin (and occasionally used in Dorne, some names having passed the Marches). Cersei played the Game well and softly and surprisingly rarely asked a Lannister relative be favored over one with more merit. He had been considering allowing her to sit the throne in judgment on petitions some days in his stead, but had feared the Old Lion’s influence upon his daughter. Now he wondered how he ever could have doubted, though the doubt was probably wise with any degree of relation to Tywin.</p>
<p>“I like that,” Robert agreed, “but I will not be disappointed if our firstborn is a girl, Cersei, no matter what Old Tywin might have told you. Boys are Heirs, but girls are <em>treasures</em>, and it will just mean we’ll have to <em>try</em> harder.”</p>
<p>Cersei smiled at that, and her golden beauty shone. Cersei’s smiles were rarely real ones, gentle but somehow too bright to be reality when displayed for all to see, but for once she looked genuinely happy, and Robert knew now why they called her the most beautiful woman in the Realm.</p>
<p>“Grandmaester Pycelle said that we could continue having marital relations up to the eighth moon.”</p>
<p>That was even <em>better</em> news.</p>
<p>“What names do you favor for a girl?” Robert asked, kissing his wife’s cheek as he reached for her brush to tame her hair into one of the more simple braids she favored. When he had first started brushing out her hair – which was a more intimate action than Robert had realized at the time –, Cersei had written out a book of directions with sketches to illustrate the many types of braids he hadn’t known existed. He kept to the simpler styles (Robert was hardly a handmaiden, and she was only wearing them to bed, after all), but brushing Cersei’s soft golden hair was often a good way to unwind after the stress of the day. The simple repetition was soothing.</p>
<p>“I was thinking Myrcella, for the Storm King Myrcelle, or Wendolyn, after one of your Estermont ancestors…”</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. The Prerogative of Fools in Crowns</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Always remember that the crowd that applauds your coronation is the same crowd that will applaud your beheading. People like a show.” – Terry Pratchett</p><p>Fools in crowns do as they please. Unfortunately, this displeases quite a few people.</p>
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    <p>“Yes we discussed a second wife since my babes are so close together, and <em>yes</em> we discussed Lady Lyanna for that role, but only <em>yesterday</em>!” Elia whisper-shouted across the tent.</p><p>“Your husband is a fool,” Ashara sighed both wearily and heavily. “A besotted fool, but a fool nonetheless. Write Lord Stark personally – before he does something even more foolish in response to Rhaegar's folly.”</p><p>She cocked her head bird-like, offering a cheeky grin.</p><p>“Dark curls, eh?”</p><p>“<em>Ashara!</em>” her face heated at the reminder of their early explorations.</p><p>“You get the easy job, Elia,” she pointed out, “screaming at your husband. I’m to talk down Oberyn, so let me tease.”</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. An Undone Thing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Simply an undone thing, or their undoing? There may yet be a resurgence of the Faith Militant over this, legal as it may be. Still, the Royal Line must be secure.</p>
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    <p>“Viserys favors His Grace,” she offered softly. Rhaegar stiffened. “You require more than a single son, and to give you another would see me die in the Woman’s War. The Master of Laws had allowed me to the Legal Library much during my pregnancy, however, and though it is no longer done, neither is it illegal for you to take a second wife.”</p><p>“<em>Elia!</em>” Rhaegar gasped quietly. “I would not dishonor -”</p><p>“It would be with my permission, not dishonor, and I would write Doran and Oberyn as much; do not fret so, querido,” she said. “We may choose the Lady together, if that appease your conscience.”</p><p>Rhaegar paused, silent.</p><p>“Whom do you have in mind?”</p><p>“Lannister.”</p><p>“The Lady <em>Cersei</em>?” came the incredulous rejoinder.</p><p>“No, the pleasant one,” she waved off. “The younger one with the good childbearing hips. It would appease Lord Tywin and mayhap grant us aid of the Westerlands in our… plans.”</p><p>Plan A was to call a Great Council to have Aerys deposed and Rhaegar crowned King. Plan B was assassination, which Elia preferred, though Rhae would prefer if it didn’t come to that. As she’d said, he was no kin of a Faceless Man.</p><p>Semantics, but such mattered.</p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. A Solitary Swimmer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wynafryd Manderly does not want a Soulmark. Were it up to her and not the men, she would never wed, never birth children in the sort of bodily war that men cannot imagine.</p>
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    <p>At three-and-ten (the youngest one can be for such things), Wynafryd Manderly stares down at her wrist in shock, mouth opening and closing silently. There is no awe here.</p>
<p>She would be required to wed one day, yes, but Wyn had hoped to put it off as long as possible. While she would prefer to never leave White Harbor and her family, it was a woman’s duty to do so – but she had not wished to be deemed ‘Woman’ so soon. Wynafryd does not want a Soulmark. Were it up to her and not the men, she would never wed, never birth children in the sort of bodily war that men cannot imagine. It may be her duty, but it is a duty she does not want - not after witnessing the trauma of her sister's birth, Father trying for a son he would never have and yet never to witness what his lusts had wrought.  </p>
<p>Tracing the Mark with the tips of her fingers, it felt cool and smooth like well-worked metal, shining like a sword and cutting just as sharp in her mind. Though it was her duty to wed one day, as all women must, apparently the Gods had realized that, left to her own devices, Wynafryd would do no such thing, denying all suitors. Thus, they had arranged a Match of their own.</p>
<p>House Stark was no bad place to be Matched to, she reluctantly admitted, whether she was Matched to the Heir, the bastard, or the green boy. It was her desire to be an old maid with no husband to her name, but the Gods chose her destiny as elsewise, and so she would do her duty. One did not defy the Gods, New or Old.</p>
<p>While she did not <em>wish</em> to inform her Lord Grandfather, a formal contract of betrothal and trade must follow the Gods’ own form of betrothal, and so she must – and so she <em>would</em>. It was an auspicious Match, really.</p>
<p>It was not an auspicious day for Wynafryd Manderly.</p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. A Solitary Swimmer II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Robb's reaction to his Soulmark is everything a family should expect, with the rarity of such things.</p>
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    <p>The blue-green merman stands out on his wrist an aching cold and light as sea spray, and this no jape from his siblings. Robb grins, bright as sunlight, as he scents sea breeze and honey and something a tad coppery from it. He is Matched by the Gods, well and truly. That is <em>always</em> a most glorious thing.</p>
<p>“Mother! Father!” he calls with excitement, running down the hall. “I’m Matched!”</p>
<p>Mother set her fork aside to cup the back of his wrist, her smile somehow sad as she examined the Mark, but Robb couldn't be anything but gladdened this day.</p>
<p>“One of the Manderly girls,” Mother confirms to Father with a smile of pride, sadness forgotten (her tale is not his, <em>will not</em> be his).</p>
<p>“That is well,” Father hummed. “House Stark has not yet honored House Manderly with a marriage. The Gods have decided it is time, I think. I shall write to them immediately, Robb,” he assured in a deep, soft rumble, “and you may write your betrothed once we’ve a name to put to her.”</p>
<p>Robb hopes his Gods-Given betrothed feels as ecstatic at the news as he does. Whomever she may be, she deserves the joy <em>he</em> feels today.</p>
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